A Table in a Brightly Lit Room
by Vanstania
Summary: Allen Woodley: Great friends, great house, nagging wife, therapist of the Joker. What will happen to his life as the Clown Prince of Crime turns it upside-down in every way? And what will Batman do? Please read and leave a comment or review! thanks!
1. Chapter 1 The Invitation

Chapter 1- Allen Woodley

_He looked out of the window, the moonlight shining through the steel bars. He sighed loudly and the noise seemed to stretch on forever to him. Every moment was slow and methodic, no variety, no… fun. Of course, he hadn't had much time for fun nowadays anyway. He licked his lips and thought about Him. That man who completed him and who gave him his purpose and reason- if he could call it that. He liked to think he didn't have a purpose. What was it about Him that fascinated the man _

_so? Why was He the only thing that made his life _fun_? He stopped looking at the moon at instead focused his attention on the dead rat outside of his cell. It had been there for about four hours after a particularly big-boned guard had stepped on it. The memory of the incident brought a grin to his lips and a chuckle escaped him, one that escalated into a huge and frightening laugh, that echoed through the walls of the asylum and never seemed to stop, until it died away slowly and the man sat back on his bed and looked at the moon again._

Arkham was always a frightening place, even in the daytime. The stained walls, rusty equipment and constant shrieking from the patients could eventually turn even the bravest employee mad. Despite its fearsome reputation, corrupt guards and terrifying inmates, Allen Woodley had successfully held his post at Arkham for three years now, which, for a man of only twenty eight, had won the respect and trust of the newer employees, and even some of the older ones.

It was the first time in his life that Allen had felt truly respected and believed in. Despite his perfect grades and fun-loving attitude, he was never taken seriously enough to amount to much for most of his life. Even his own parents had tried to persuade him to choose a different career.

"Psychology?" His mother had said. "How about choose something a bit less _out-there_ like… biology? Or physics?"

At that moment, Allen was walking down the halls of Intensive treatment, making his way to Dr Jeremiah Arkham, the head psychologist of Arkham Asylum, who had summoned Allen to his office ten minutes ago. He had sent a young, blond-haired intern who had stared at Allen with stars in her eyes and a longing which he picked up on immediately. If his parents could see him now.

When he had first applied to Arkham, his friends had laughed at him.

"What, old baby-face?"

"He'll never amount to anything"

"He hasn't got the guts for _Arkham_"

He could still hear their jeers. Or was that just the screaming of the inmates? He had gotten so used to them it was hard to tell anymore.

As he passed some of the patient's cells he heard a couple talking to the doctors and orderlies.

"Where's Alice? You took her. Give me back my Alice you thief!"

"Mr Scarface is going to be very angry with me when he finds out what I've told you."

"My babies! Wilting in the dark! They need sunlight! I can hear their cries of pain!" He started to walk faster, and left Intensive Care as well as the cries and moans of the residents behind.

He remembered his first day here and how frightened he had gotten when he first heard their shrieks echoing off the walls. The masked orderlies and the constant stench of fear and sweat. It was horrible.

_You spent six years in university for _this, he had told himself. He never wanted to go back. But Dr Arkham had convinced him. He was the first person to tell him that he was great. _And he was right_, Allen thought. "You've got the potential to be great," Jeremiah had said. "I haven't seen a mind like yours in years".

And now three years later, he was finally somebody. People were acknowledging him for who he was, rather than just a guy who was way too proud for his own good. Well maybe that was true, he thought to himself, smirking as he rounded the last corner to the office. I am way too proud for my own good. As he walked, three orderlies were wrestling an inmate to the ground and holding a syringe to his neck. Another escape attempt, he thought. Arkham has seen too many of those.

Smoothing back his dirty blond hair and patting down his white medical coat, he knocked sharply on the office door embossed with the words "Jeremiah Arkham, head Psychologist".

"Come in", a deep voice answered, and Allen opened the door slowly before making his way inside, closing the door behind him. Jeremiah was sitting in a comfortable looking chair behind a wooden desk, covered in papers- case files for various patients, Allen guessed. The back wall of his office was covered in certificates and awards for his work. Apart from that, however, the room was rather bare.

Jeremiah himself was a tall, thin man of about forty-five, with thick black glasses and a receding hairline. He certainly looked the part of a psychologist, and acted it too. He had a serious, quiet and respectable demeanor about him. The way he looked at you made you feel that he knew your every secret. Placing down the case file he was holding and looking up at Allen with tired eyes, he said,

"Ah, Dr Woodley. You got my message?" Allen nodded.

"Yes, sir" he replied. He sat down on one of the hard, metal chairs in front of his desk.

"Now Allen, I called you here to discuss something very important with you." He looked at Allen solemnly. "You've only been here for three years, and you are only twenty-eight, but you have had several huge successes during your time here that even our most experienced psychologists weren't able to do."

Allen laughed to himself and looked proudly at Jeremiah. "I assume, sir that you are referring to Edward Nashton and Harleen Quinzel, formerly the "Riddler" and "Harley Quinn"?"

Six months after Allen had arrived at Arkham, he was given two of its most high-profile and dangerous inmates, the Riddler and Harley Quinn. Even though Allen was only supposed to have one session with each, Jeremiah was so impressed he gave him more work with them, until they became his full-time patients. After two grueling, frustrating years working through their problems, they were both released from Arkham and were now leading relatively normal lives. Allen still loved to point this out to anyone who would listen, and was now met with many rolling of eyes and exasperated chuckles every time he brought it up.

"Your work with them was extraordinary" Jeremiah affirmed. "After two years, you turned two of Gotham's most dangerous criminals into normal, functioning citizens."

"I'm sorry doctor," said Allen. "I don't like to use the word normal. That would suggest some kind of uniformity and conformity to their actions which is just not true. Edward and Harleen are two of the most vibrant and unusual individuals I have ever met."

Jeremiah nodded wisely. "Good philosophy Allen. How are the two getting along now?"

"I believe that Edward is now studying to be an engineer and Harleen is seeing a man who doesn't wear clown makeup and blow up buildings. Respectable. Clean cut." Allen snickered. "I still see them for weekly sessions, as I'm sure you know."

Jeremiah nodded before continuing. "Remarkable. I remember seeing them myself but to no avail. You are truly one of the greatest minds we've had here for a long time." Allen sat up straighter and soaked in the praise. "But before I tell you what I would like you to do, I need to share something personal" Jeremiah continued. Allen leaned in closer, intrigued.

"For many years now I've worked here at Arkham and I've always held a certain… belief that I was going to be able to do great things here,"

"But sir," interrupted Allen. "You've done so much work here…"

"Please let me finish, Allen," said Jeremiah sharply, and Allen sank back into his chair. "Over the years I've seen more sadness and despair than most people would see in a lifetime. And I find myself… scared. I've never felt like I need to be away from this place more as every day goes by. Sometimes…" he looked out of the window overlooking the grounds. The guard towers stretched menacingly up to the sky. "Sometimes I can't even sleep at night. The sounds, smells and sights of this place echo around my head non-stop like a broken record and… this place eventually gets everyone. Something about it's past and it's patients. It eventually drives them away. Not everyone can retain enough willpower to stay as long as you Allen, and certainly not me. But even so… I think I'll leave here soon. I've had enough."

Allen sat stunned in his chair. Jeremiah was leaving? One of the most respected and brave men he had ever met was just giving up like this? But Jeremiah took advantage of the stunned silence in the room and continued, his voice resuming it's authoritative tone.

"Now onto the other reason I've brought you here. As you know, a certain man has been with us for quite a few months now," Allen snapped back to attention and frowned slightly. "He has refused to cooperate with any of our efforts to rehabilitate him, and I'm starting to wonder if he _can _be cured. So far he's attacked three of his therapists during his _current _stay, and the rest he's just ignored."

Recognition dawned on Allen's face. He knew who Jeremiah was talking about. He had studied his case file extensively, picking apart everything about him…

"I am, of course, talking about the Joker," Jeremiah continued, a slight scowl developing on his face as he said the man's name. Allen could understand why. He _had _killed hundreds of people over the years and had escaped from Arkham more than five times.

"He is partially the reason why I'm leaving," Jeremiah fidgeted with his hands. "I cant deal with the responsibility of him. And the fact he keeps escaping again and again, people blaming me for it as he murders and pillages. Dr Silverton is still in the hospital!"

"You don't need to leave sir." Said Allen, sitting up straight and looking the doctor in the eye. "None of what he does is your fault!"

"It's too late, Allen. I've already submitted my transfer papers. I'm starting my own clinic. Somewhere away from all… this."

Silence fell upon the two as the anger built up inside of Allen. How could Dr Arkham do this! He was the one who had told him to stay and that he was going to be great! And now he was leaving just because he _didn't feel right_. He clenched his fists and controlled an angry outburst hovering on his lips.

"There's something I would like you to do before I leave at the end of the year," said Jeremiah, interrupting the silence. "Now, I'm not going to force you to do it, but I am asking, as a colleague and a friend."

"What is it, _Sir_?" Allen practically spat at the doctor. How dare he ask for his help? He pretended not to notice as he continued.

"None of us have been able to do anything to help him, and he is getting cockier every day. The staff is counting the days until he escapes again and I just want _one more attempt_ to try and help him. Allen…" Allen looked up with suspicion, and dreaded the sentence he knew Jeremiah would deliver.

"I want to you accept the Joker as a patient,"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- The Decision

**A/N: Hey everyone! If you are checking out this chapter, thanks a lot! A little sad that I didn't get any reviews for my first chapter, but I guess I'll have to upload more until someone comments XD. Anyway, just a few points I want to go through before we begin. Firstly, the main character of this is ALLEN. Not the Joker, even though he is one of the main characters, as well as Batman. I really wanted to write this to explore the mind of several characters of Gotham City, as well as one of my own. So there won't be too many big, gut wrenching, action scenes (although with the Joker there's bound to be a few). I might write a couple of chapters from the Joker's perspective, but they will mostly be from Allen's, with some Batman chapters as well. This is how the JOKER changed ALLEN, not the other way around (despite what Allen WANTS :P). Also, no slash or romance (Joker sex= ewwey). Also, this is a psychological drama, and most of the story comes from CHARACTER, so expect to see a lot of diary entries, interview notes etc, to really explore the characters from MY perspective. With that said, ENJOY!**

From the notes of Dr Allen Woodley- 9/3/09. Interview with Harleen Quinzel AKA Harley Quinn. Session 1:

"_Hello Harleen. How are you today?" Allen started the interview politely. The young, blonde girl looked up and beamed._

"_Call me Harley, everyone does!" she gushed. Allen coughed nervously before continuing. _

"_Okay then, Harley. Why do you think you are here?"_

_She laughed and said without skipping a beat, "Because none of these stupid people know how to take a joke!" The laugh was bright and bubbly, and reflected the personality of the girl handcuffed in front of him. _

"_So you think that assisting in the murders of over one hundred people, and the destruction of over fifty buildings is… just a joke?" Allen leaned forward as he asked. Harley's smile dropped a bit as she said, obviously annoyed, "Exactly, doctor. What you don't get is that me and my Puddin'," she gazed off lovingly into the distance, obviously fantasising about her "sweetheart". "What you don't get is that me and my Puddin' are just simply trying to bring a few smiles into the world. So what if a few people die? It's all just part of the joke!"_

_Allen found her high, nasally voice annoying. It was obvious that she was from Brooklyn and made no attempt to disguise it._

"_So… what is this joke, Harley? You seem so eager to share it."_

"_Why life of course!" she said, exasperated, as if she was tired of giving the same speech over and over. "Everything anyone ever does is for nothing! Kaputz! Nudda! And yet we still go on living like it means something!" _

_This broad doesn't know anything she's talking about, thought Allen. "And you prove this by killing people?" he clarified. Harley seemed to struggle for an answer._

"_Well… ask Mr J- they're HIS plans after all!" She crossed her arms and started to pout. She refused to say anything else for the rest of the session. Dr Woodley had definitely gotten to her. _

When Allen was driving to meet his friends on Sunday, his cell phone rang. The Calller ID said it was from his mother. Allen groaned audibly. _You always did have great timing, mother,_ he thought as he picked up the phone and hit the answer button. Before he had time to say hello, he was bombarded with questions on the other end of the line.

"_Allen is that you?" _A high, nasally voice screeched into Allen's ear. "_Oh my goodness Allen what are you thinking? Is this some kind of joke? You can't treat the Joker, Allen! You're not good enough! You're too young!"_

Allen froze. _How did she know?_ He interrupted his mother before she said another word.

"Mother! How are you?"

"_Don't change the subject, boy! What are you doing?" _Allen rolled his eyes and replied as innocently as possible.

"Mother, a colleague of mine requested that I take the Joker as a patient and… I took him up on the offer. That's all!"

"_That's all? That's all? You tell the doctors and the therapists that's all when he's through with you! Have you seen what he's done, Allen? To much stronger and braver men and women than you?"_

"Mother! I can do this!"

"_You CAN'T Allen! You can't! No-one else has so what makes you think you'll be able to?"_

"Mother. Please stop." Allen could feel the anger rising in him. His voice was shaking.

"_I don't want my only child to be killed like a lamb for slaughter! You tell your superiors to let you off the case right. Now. Do you hear me, Boy?"_

"Mother!" Allen shouted into the phone, his anger bursting forth like a tiger. "I can _do _this! I'm not telling my superiors _anything_! No-one can stop me this time, least of all you!" With that, Allen slammed down the phone and continued to drive, panting heavily, his face red with both rage and embarrassment,

Allen hated pubs. They were noisy and reeked of alcohol. They were, however, his friend's favourite place to hang out, and Allen was reluctantly dragged down to the Old Bushey every Sunday. And he was always the designated driver. Always. Despite this, Allen liked the get togethers with his friends where they would all share interesting stories from their separate workplaces. If five psychologists sitting in a bar discussing work sounds boring, then they hadn't seen their small group. They all worked with manic depressives, schizophrenics and serial killers on a daily basis, and always had one or two fun stories to share about their patients and the 'mishaps' they had gotten themselves into.

On this particular Sunday, they were all uncharacteristically sober and they managed to talk without slurring for the entire night. It was 10pm and they were still discussing their patients. They had talked about other things throughout the night but eventually rounded back to this topic again. Mark Reeves, a bespectacled man in his thirties was talking about a particularly unique man who was convinced he was the master of iron.

"...Grabbed a spoon and started waving it around shouting "ALL SHALT BOW BEFORE ME"! It was hilarious!" The rest of the table was laughing uncontrollably, and the bartender shot them exasperated looks before returning to his work.

"Yeah, well I had lunchroom duty yesterday," started Linda Ross, the only girl in the group. "And this guy was running around screaming. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that the dish and the spoon, you know from that old nursery rhyme, were chasing him with flamethrowers!"

The table dissolved into laughter again. To an outsider, it may have seemed rude and disrespectful to the patients, but to them it was their way of getting through the week without snapping. They had all gone to college together; Linda, Mark, Fred, Caleb and Allen. They had all gone on to different clinics and to different asylums but they had kept in touch.

"Your turn Allen!" cried Fred, thumping him on the back.

"Yeah, man!" Mark practically yelled. "You haven't told us anything all evening! You've just been listening to us yabber on!"

"Yeah well, neither has _Caleb_!" Allen complained pointing at the short, round man at the end of the table. He shrugged in a _what-are-you-going-to-do? _kind of way.

"Yeah but Caleb never says anything!" Mark replied. "You're always the one who boasts about your _latest breakthroughs_ and shit!"

It was true. Allen was always the one to proudly declare his new patients and "breakthroughs" regarding them. He always wanted to show that he was special, and capable of doing anything. And he believed that he could. Allen beamed to the group as they looked at him expectantly. Maybe I should just leave them hanging, he thought, but he didn't think he could hold onto his secret any longer.

"Okay," he said, leaning forward dramatically, a smile playing on his lips. He tried not to burst out laughing as the others leaned in with him. He even thought the bartender was listening. They were the only ones left in the bar at this point, and they pine floors and walls brought a certain atmosphere to the place. It was completely silent in the bar before Allen started to talk.

"You know how I told you about the Joker's arrival in Arkham a few months ago?"

"Oh God; don't remind me!" Linda cried. "We all saw what he did to that man Brian Douglas, and to those poor people on the ferries!"

"Yeah, man. You don't want to mess around with him too much." Mark continued. "When he was at Langton Asylum a year ago, he got into everyone's heads. You should steer clear."

Mark had worked at Langton Asylum for a few years. It was a huge, high security facility in the next town over from Gotham. When the Joker escaped from it two years ago, he had killed over ten guards and doctors, and left a young nurse permanently blind. "No-one to this day knows how he got a hold of that pencil," Mark liked to tell people. Everywhere he had been sent to, the Joker was followed with stories like that. Most came from Arkham, but once or twice from other facilities. Other poor souls who hoped to contain him and failed. Allen hesitated.

Should he tell them? _I probably won't even be successful… _He thought. _And then he'll just start all of this again. And what will they think of me. The cause. The tipping point. The failure. They will all look at me and say "You tried your best" and "Good job, mate," but inside will judge you and wonder why, oh why you had even THOUGHT about attempting this. All the pity, the ridicule and disbelief that everyone in your life had regarded you with will come rushing back like an unstoppable force. And all because I took a chance. _

_ How long will it be this time? How many days, weeks, or months will it take before he escapes? And how many will be dragged down with him? _Allen look at his friend's faces, waiting, wanting him to answer. _No. I will not fail. If it is the last thing I do, I will NOT be considered a failure ever. Again. I am going to get this son-of-a-bitch and show him just what I can do._

He smirked at the faces staring at him around the table, still waiting patiently. What has felt like hours searching through his mind had only been a few seconds. He looked at his friends and smiled wider.

"I'm treating the Joker."

Allen stumbled through the door of his house, completely drunk. After telling them his 'big news', his friends, after exchanging looks of shock and mumbled concerns for him, had left shortly after, presumably to take in the news and to let it sink in that their friend was treating Gotham's most wanted. Before leaving, Caleb had left Allen with one of his rare words, saying "Don't listen to them, Allen. You'll do great," leaving Allen to ponder his own thoughts in silence.

He ended up drinking his way through the night, downing beer after beer in the empty bar until midnight, when the bartender offered him a ride home. The bartender, whose name was Jonny, told Allen about his customers, and showed him pictures of his kids. Allen was either too deep in thought, or too drunk to take much notice. And it came as no surprise that when his wife Tabitha heard her husband crashing through the door completely sloshed, she was more than annoyed.

"Where were you?!" she shouted, stomping down the stairs in her bra and pajama pants. Her long brown hair was messy, and it was obvious that Allen had just woken her up. Allen collapsed through the doorframe and stumbled into a comfy armchair a few metres away.

"Honey," Allen slurred, slowly turning his head towards Tabitha. "You k-know that I-I go to the baarr on Sun-days," He yawned loudly before turning back to the wall that the armchair was facing.

"I _know _that," she replied, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "But you _never_ come home this late! And certainly not drunk! What's gotten into you!" Her arms were flailing wildly, and she was screaming, but Allen didn't care. He'd heard this same rap too many times for it to make an impact on him. _Think about your trains,_ he thought to himself as he tried to block out the screaming of his wife.

Allen had always liked trains, and kept a model railroad in the basement, where he would construct and paint model trains, stations, scenery and even people. He had worked on it for over a decade and was his pride and joy, apart from psychology. His wife said it was a waste of time and money, but Allen loved nothing more than going to the arts and crafts store every Friday to check out the latest models.

"…and I don't _care _if the Joker is your patient! That DOES NOT give you the right to wake me up in the middle of the night, your wife, with your noises! You do not get special treatment Allen! If anything, you should be asleep RIGHT NOW! Your first session is with him TOMORROW, for God's sake, and you are going to get. Eaten. Alive."

_God, is she still going on?_ Allen thought to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to, once again, drown out the sounds. But at the back of his head, through the stupor he was in, a thought nagged at his brain. His first session was with the Joker tomorrow, and even though he had prepared all week, he would feel like absolute shit the next day. _The least she could do is shut up and let me sleep. _The thought made him chuckle.

"What are you laughing at, mister? Are you even _listening _to me? Well it's too late anyway, Allen. You are _sleeping_ on that couch tonight and don't you dare try to make me change my mind," she finished, and stormed back upstairs.

_Why would I want to do that?_ Allen wondered to himself, and chuckled as he fell asleep.

_From the memoirs of Allen Woodley-_

_I grew up in Gotham City. I lived in a big, 2-storey redbrick house near the Palisades. Fortunately I was in the 'safe' bit of town, although you can never really call anywhere in Gotham safe. My father was a bigshot lawyer, my mother was a banker. I grew up surrounded by pencil skirts, suits and briefcases. So did my brother. He was only two years older than me, and he understood me better than my parents ever did. While they were in business meetings, Liam was always there, supporting me through every decision I made. Although I wish now that I had taken better care of _him. _He took his own life at 15, no doubt tired of the endless onslaught of 'love' and 'encouragement' from my parents. _

_He was their favourite. I always knew that. My father always had everything planned out for Liam. He would go to medical school and become a doctor. That much was always certain for him. Although I knew that Liam never wanted that. He wanted to be an actor. Oh, he loved it. He once played Puck from a Midsummer's Night's Dream in a community play when he was 14. And he loved it. It was one of the few times that my father actually let him do what he wanted. _

_Of course, when Liam died, mother and father never blamed themselves. No. It was the school system. It was his friends. It was television. They never thought for a minute about what they might have done to cause it._

_My parents didn't give me as much direction as Liam. Even though I always got top marks, and excelled at every subject, I was always going to be the one that never amounted to anything. So when I received a scholarship to Gotham University, you could imagine my parents surprise. My father even called the school to make sure that they hadn't made a mistake. But it was real. And they didn't even congratulate me. _

**A/M: Hey guys (again)! Thanks for reading! I hope that this gave you more insight into Allen's mind and life before he meets our favourite clown! Don't worry, the Joker will be in the next chapter, I swear! So just wait a bit and you'll see! I won't be able to update for a bit because of exams, but I swear I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible. PLEEEAASSSEEE leave a review! It helps A LOT! Sooo yeah! Thanks sooo much, guys, and I'll see you soon! **

**Lucy. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- The Interview

**A/N: Hey everyone! Once again thanks for reading! SOOOOOO are you excited for this chapter? Our favourite clown makes his debut! I hope you like how I've written him, I'm not necessarily making him _exactly_ like Heath Ledger's Joker; I've added my own personal touch. So enjoy the chapter guys! BTW thanks a lot to Duchess of Decorum for giving such a positive review! You made my day! Also thanks to Linnie Kinda Spinnie for giving me some great constructive criticism!**

**Lucy**

From the notes of Dr Allen Woodley- 11/4/09. Interview with Edward Nashton AKA the Riddler.

_Edward sat with his hands cuffed under the table. He kept his head down, but Allen could see a smirk on his lips. Another idiot coming to try and test me, the smile said. Allen didn't like it. This man was full of confidence and secrets which he would never expose. At least not to someone who was 'unworthy'. And Allen had the feeling that that was what he was. _

"_Hello, Edward," He started, trying to put as much confidence into his voice as possible. Edward didn't look up, but spoke anyway, his brown hair shielding his eyes. _

"_Riddle me this, doctor," he said, and Allen was surprised at the voice. He expected a high, nasally tone from the gaunt, lanky man in front of him. What he heard was posh and confident, echoing across the room. "What work can one never finish?"_

_Edward suddenly looked up, staring into Allen's eyes. They were bright green, and glinted at the prospect of a new toy, just another person in the world to play with and trick. And he would show everyone. He continued. "Well, Doctor?" _

_Allen stared at Edward, a small smile creeping onto the man's face. He knew that he needed to give Edward an answer. One he didn't want to hear. Edward never wanted anyone to be on par to him, to be an equal. But Allen needed to show him that he was not the centre of the universe. The answer came to him easily after a few seconds. He had no idea whether Edward would like it or not, and he didn't care. As long as it would enable therapy. _

"_Teamwork." He answered firmly, once again trying to pack as much confidence as he could into the sentence. Edward's face flickered, and a low growl escaped his throat. But the anger left his face, and settled into a huge grin. "Well Doctor. You might not be such a hopeless fool after all. So ask your trivial questions. I promise that I will answer them. Until you slip up. And trust me," Edward's smile dropped into a scowl. "You will." _

_With that, he settled back into his chair, his eyes never leaving Allen's. He knew he had to think up ways to trip this doctor up. Like all the others. No-one can beat me, he thought. No-one. _

If there's one way to make sure you wake up feeling like absolute shit the next morning, get drunk. Unfortunately, Allen was feeling the considerable effects of last night's soul-searching that he conducted, and woke up with a searing headache that made his head feel like it was going to explode. He also felt nauseous, and had to go to the bathroom to see if he was going to throw up. His neck and back ached from their uncomfortable position on the couch the night before, as well. _Next time, do less soul-searching, _Allen thought to himself, an audible groan making its may through his lips when he checked his watch and saw that he was due at work in half an hour. He rushed around the house, pulling on clean dress pants, a white cotton shirt and his favorite checkered tie from his dresser upstairs. He earned a reprimanding look from Tabitha as he slammed the wardrobe doors shut, and she buried her face back into her pillow, sighing loudly.

Allen practically ran into the kitchen to have a breakfast of coffee and handfuls of dry Rice Krispies. By this time, his head was pounding uncomfortably, and he took some Tylenol to calm down his body. After quickly finishing his breakfast, and feeling a lot more awake, as well as sober, he made a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve himself, and to brush his teeth.

When he was busy brushing his teeth, Allen caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror overhanging the sink. What he saw there made him groan loudly again. His face was pale, and dark rings circled underneath his eyes. This was from both last night, and the fact that he was staying up until 2am every night for the past week, reading over the Joker's case file again and again, memorizing every detail until Tabitha angrily told him to 'Turn off the bloody light'.

_I can't go in looking like this! _Allen looked around the small bathroom looking for something, anything really, that could be useful for covering up his unfortunate features. Of course, working at Arkham meant that he often came into work looking like a zombie, shuffling through the halls like a mindless shell, desperately trying to suck as much essence as he could from a cup of coffee. Him and half of the other doctors in the place. Jeremiah was often used to the dark raccoon rings and pale complexion of the employees under his management. But Allen thought that it wouldn't be a very good idea to show up to the first therapy session of the Joker resembling his patient.

Allen's eyes fell onto Tabitha's makeup box, tucked away behind the tap, and he opened it hurriedly, scattering its contents all over the bathroom when he found the item he was looking for. The foundation. He looked at it with distaste and frowned. Was he really so desperate to look the part of a professional that he was going to wear _make-up_ for a therapy session? Of course, with his patient, Allen was sure that the Joker wouldn't be too skeptical of the foundation- I mean, look at the get up _he _wears- but this was too much. Sighing, he put the foundation back in the bag and left the bathroom. He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside, squinting at the bright sunlight that greeted him, and cursing at the pounding of his head that was beginning to resurface.

He took a moment to look back at his house. It was quite beautiful, really. He and Tabitha bought it just after they were married, five years ago. It was two storeys, with white shingles and a black tile roof. His parents insisted they paid for it, as a wedding gift. He and Tabitha had eagerly accepted, seeing as Allen was on intern's wages at the time, and Tabitha was still in university, and all they could afford was a small apartment in the Narrow's. They both wanted to start a family at the time, and wanted their child to grow up somewhere not filled with misery, poverty and despair. But things piled up. The mortgage, the bills, the jobs they both held. Soon, the thought of children was pushed away. Then came the arguments. The yelling. The crying. Everything they did together was a bore.

Allen sighed heavily, and rubbed his eyes as he turned away from the house, and his bitter memories, walked to his car, got in, and started driving. Words from the case file danced through his mind.

_Psychotic_

_Sick-Minded_

_Sociopathic_

_Neurotic_

_Deformed_

_Murderer._

When Allen arrived at Arkham, he was twenty minutes late. Because of a hit-and-run near the island, it had taken him way longer than it usually did to reach his workplace. The cars that weren't trying to get around the scene were parked near the sidewalks, the drivers craning their necks out of windows to watch the event. This was the kind of free, sick entertainment the city provided, Allen had thought to himself when he even saw a couple of children watching the body being lifted onto a gurney to be taken to Gotham General.

A cute, young secretary in the lobby looked at Allen skeptically when he asked which interview room the Joker was being kept in. "I'm his therapist and I'm starting work with him today. Allen Woodley."

He showed her his I.D card and the secretary looked over him once more as she slowly turned to her computer and started searching for the information. The tapping of the keys echoed around the room, which was oddly bare except for a few folding chairs placed on one side. The walls and floors were a stained white, just like the rest of the asylum.

Allen's foot tapped impatiently on the floor in time to the keyboard clicks. After a few seconds, they stopped, and the secretary looked back at him. "Dr Woodley?" Allen nodded. "You are due in the East Wing, in interrogation room 2. Dr Arkham will apparently meet you there." Allen mumbled a thank-you and bolted down the hallways, receiving confused glances from nurses and orderlies doing their daily rounds.

When he finally made it to the East Wing, Jeremiah was waiting right outside the designated interview room. He looked at his watch and strode over to Allen. "Where were you, Allen? You're twenty five minutes late!" His eyes widened when he saw Allen's face. "Are you okay, Doctor? You look like shit."

"Just a bit unwell, Dr Arkham," Allen replied, rubbing his temples. "Sorry I'm late, I got held up in traffic." Jeremiah still had a worried expression on his face but he continued. "Okay Allen. The session technically started five minutes ago so we don't have much time to talk. He's waiting in the room now. I just wanted to go over a couple of things before you begin."

Allen nodded, and Jeremiah sighed. "Okay. First off, don't go near him. He's bound in a straitjacket, and cuffed to the table, but he's gotten out of both before. He's attacked quite a few therapists in the past who got too close." Allen grunted in agreement. He remembered one incident where a young man who was interviewing the Joker decided to let him out of the cuffs for whatever reason, and he had his eyes dug out with a plastic fork the Joker had hidden literally up his sleeve.

"Secondly," The doctor continued, "Don't tell him _anything _about yourself. _Nothing. _Because, trust me Allen, he will chew up every single little detail you give him about yourself, and use it all to twist your mind. I don't want to have to give you five months of therapy sessions because of this." Allen nodded again. _I can do this. I have to do this. I'm the only one who can._ He was about to open the door to the interview room when Jeremiah placed a hand on his arm.

"Allen." Dr Arkham looked into Allen's eyes and saw nothing but concern for the young man standing before him. "You don't have to do this. I came to you because you were a last resort, because he had wiped the board with every other person we brought in to try and sort this bastard out. In your present state, I'm just wondering if this is a good idea." Allen patted Jeremiah awkwardly on the shoulder, and smiled confidently. "Sir. I can do this." With that, he turned on his pocket recorder which would document the sessions between them. He inhaled deeply before turning the doorknob and walking into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

There was a table in a brightly lit room. That was all. Just a metal table, securely bolted to the ground, and three bright overhead lights across the ceiling. And then there was the man behind the table. The most terrifying person Allen had ever seen, or would see in his life. Badly dyed green hair lay lank and dirty above his shoulders. He had a pointed nose and chin, and his lips were turned upwards in a sinister smile, greeting his new doctor. The gruesome scars on his cheeks curved up his jawline, accentuating his smile even more. But his eyes. His eyes were the worst part of it all. They were dark, and cold, but glinted hungrily as they found Allen's. He licked his lips, and traced the edges of the scars lining his cheeks. He was the lion, and Allen was the prey. He was the Joker.

Right away, Allen's confidence plummeted to the ground. He wanted to turn around and run away from this place, do anything to escape this _person_ who only sat a few metres away. Even with the straitjacket, he looked like he was ready to pounce on Allen. Breathing deeply, Allen forced a smile onto his face and nervously walked towards the table and sat down, placing the files and the recorder in front of him, shooting glances at his patient every few seconds while organizing the papers. An excuse for not having to talk. The Joker raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat loudly. Allen jumped when he heard the sound and The Joker giggled loudly.

"A bit on edge today, Doc?" he asked. His voice was deep and gravelly. "I'm not one for judging your… psychiatric techniques, but I have a strange feeling that this isn't the way these sessions are supposed to go." He shaped his mouth around each word he spoke as if he were savoring its sound and its feel; he also spoke very happily, as if he was amused by everything he was saying. Allen was mesmerized by him. "You ask me questions about my _tragic_ childhood and I… answer them."

"Actually, I-I thought I'd start with our names." Allen groaned inwardly as soon as the words came out of his mouth. _Ohmygodwhydidiaskthathe'sgoingtokillmewhydididothisw hydididothiswhydididothis…_

"Well, _Doc_," The Joker giggled_. _"The thing is… you have my name, right there on those sheets of paper you hold _so dear_," The Joker continued, nudging towards his case file with as much movement as the straitjacket would allow. Allen imagined that if he wasn't restrained, he would make great use of his hands and arms during conversation.

"But," he continued. Allen stayed silent, his face blank but his thumping heart betraying his true emotions. "If you really want to start with… our _names…_" He trailed off into a giggle. "You are Dr Allen Woodley. They call _me…_ The Joker."

He grinned and Allen shivered. He could feel Jeremiah's eyes watching him, judging him from behind the one way glass. He scowled and drew himself back up. The clown watched him curiously.

"I know." Allen said confidently and firmly, his voice echoing around the room. "I know what you say your name is. I want to know…" and he leaned in as far as he would dare go, "Who. You. Were. Born. As." Allen stared intently- or at least tried to- at the Joker, trying not to let his dark, piercing gaze make him look away.

Suddenly the Joker threw his head back and laughed; a real laugh, not the eerie, intimidating giggles he had let loose before. It was high, shrill and out of control. It reverberated around the entire room and made Allen sit up in shock and surprise, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He had never felt this scared in his entire life.

"And I though that you would be different, Doc!" the Joker cried in between giggles. "Not play the same games that everyone else plays!" Allen balled his hands under the desk. "Names, screening, _getting to know each other…_It's all the same tricks!"

"Be quiet." Allen said quietly. As scared as he was, he wanted the Joker to shut up more than anything else in the world at that moment.

"Oh! I've got a game!" he cried. "How about a guessing game? It's _so _much fun! I play it all the time!" His voice never dimmed, never wavered, always stayed in the same manic, loud tone. "Let's play: Who is your doctor!" _Why aren't the guards coming in?_ Allen thought. _Why isn't anyone helping me?_

"Hmmm. A wedding ring. Married. But your complexion right now indicates the aftereffects of a busy _night-on-the-town_, am I right?" The clown laughed. Allen's face flushed with anger and humiliation. "Don't be so bashful, Doc! It happens to me all of the time!" That line sent him into fresh peals of giggles.

"Shut up." Allen said, quietly, but full of the building anger and hatred towards his patient. He however, did not hear Allen.

"Now why would good ol' Doc Woodley go all out like this the night before a therapy session? Trouble at home? Mummy issues? A little _soul-searching?_ Were you thinking about me?"

_How does he know these things? _Allen was ready to explode. He had never felt as angry or hate-filled in his entire life. In a few short minutes, the man before him had taken everything personal, private and special to Allen and turned it all against him. _My wife, my parents, my pride. How did he know._ As the Joker laughed, he smiled. _And I thought I could do this. _Allen shook his head with the realization. _Am I really like all the others? _He wondered briefly before the Joker said the one thing that made Allen snap.

"…And I bet that _everyone_ you have ever met thinks that you are _completely worthless_. And you know what, Doc…" He stopped laughing, somehow combining both seriousness and amusement into one face. "I think that they are right."

"SHUT UP!" Allen screamed- to his parents, his friends, his wife, but most of all the Joker. Throwing his case file on the ground, he ran out of the room.

"Allen! Wait!" He could hear Jeremiah calling him but Allen didn't care. He ran, blocking out the sounds of pain, suffering and insanity, blocking out the walls, floors and cells. Knocking orderlies, guards and nurses out of the way. He ran into the lobby and sat down on a hard plastic chair, his head in his hands, panting, words repeating and overlapping themselves in his head, over and over. _I am a failure._


End file.
